One Among Many
by Username666
Summary: A series of one-shots to eventually turn into full blown books on demand. Assassin's Creed, Merlin, Harry Potter, Supernatural, Doctor Who, ect. There's a little bit of every fandom here. Except anime. I can't write anime. :3
1. OAM Foreword

**Here at One Among Many, we believe in writing to the greatest suffering of our reviewers. We, meaning I but with more I's so like Iiiiii, like to write a single crossover or non-crossover chapter to be continued with demand and only demand. So yes, if you want that new chapter, you will have to complement all I's very lovely hair and sense of style. It may take awhile. A few of I really enjoy being complemented.**

**Of course, I own nothing. I freely give up reign on story originality as well, since this is the equivalent of doodling to get better at drawing. I honestly do not care if someone sees one of these chapters and writes their own take on it. It's near impossible that anyone can copy it to a letter, so consider some of these to be prompts, open to all.**

**Anyway, One Among Many will just be single chapters that, if encouraged, will eventually turn into full blown books. It will take at least ten reviews for a single chapter to get it kicked off, and just be forewarned that the I in Iiiiiii might not be able to immediately type out the new story. It'll be easier when summer strikes, but I've got school and, and... and an xbox that requires attention! Sorry in advance.**

**Anyway, as always, Peace Off, Internets!**


	2. The Eagle and The Jackdaw

**Just some silly idea that's been floating persistently around my head since I started playing Black Flag. I love Altair. So much. The first game wasn't the best, but Altair shall forever be my favorite. So this crazy thought filtered in with my usual daydreams; Why not throw Altair and Kenway together? Not together, together, jeez, they're distantly related, but those two could stir up a real storm together. **

**So, on with the show!**

* * *

Altair's blade sunk deep into the old man's chest. The assassin looked down, as if surprised, when blood welled up around the silver weapon. His mentor rasped nonsense, trying, failing, to make his old apprentice understand. Al Mualim shuddered once more, dying words falling to dust on his bloody lips. A great tremble shook him, his last breath spent with pointless lies, the Mentor of Masyaf's Creed died. The Apple of Eden slipped from his limp hand, gleaming treacherously.

Altair stood, his wrist damped red, his robes stained with his brother's blood, his faith faltering. Al Mualim was the best of them. He died traitorous, a turncoat to his own order. He had to be stopped, put down for his crimes against the Creed.

The master assassin smoldered a snarl, digging dirty fingers into the latches securing his hidden blade. He ripped it off, throwing it to the ground next to his dead mentor.

"I hope you're happy, old man." He hissed, watching dust settle across Al Mualim's smoldered eyes. "In the hell you're rotting in." He nearly stumbled around the growing puddle of bloody sand, reaching for the Apple.

It's curious golden surface reflected Altair's tanned hand, winking like a star. It looked like a dying sun, with fading warmth, a time of ancient things past. Only its light truly and fully exists now. But its power still stirred like a coiled serpent. The assassin wasn't fooled by its glittering gown. The Apple of Eden turned good men evil and possessed powers that should never fall to men.

"What a curios thing, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt," Altair murmured to the Apple, turning it in his hands. "Over a thing so small." It hummed in his hand, then burst apart in brilliant white light. The master assassin shielded his eyes with one arm, watching the light eat Al Mualim's body away. Then the world around him, the sand, the wind, the bleached blue sky, faded into one, searing light.

Altair blacked out.

* * *

Edward Kenway smiled down at his new robes. They were nice robes, outside of a few patches of blood and the stink of sweat and seaweed. The pirate fiddled with the strange machine he took from the assassin's wrist. A blade shot out, nicking his finger. Edward dropped the hidden blade, sucking his stuck finger. His other hand closed softly, lovingly, around the curios crystal in his pocket. He wouldn't be losing that. It was his one way ticket to an easy life, free of piracy and dept.

A flash of white light shown through the trees back towards the abandoned village. Edward frowned around his finger. Gunpowder could make that light, but it would be louder then a Man'o'War tearing apart a schooner. He pulled the hood up over his face and felt a surge of arrogant confidence. He just took down a powerful fighter, Duncan Watpole. He'd faced much and come out without a scratch. A mysterious white light was hardly something to squeal over.

He strode to the village, slowing the closer he got to the pulsing white light. Gunpowder wouldn't have glowed that long- nothing could stay alight like that without burning. He crept along the wall of a hut, leaning over the corner and loosening the sheath around his sword.

In the light, bloody, battered and dusty from sand a far cry from the pale yellow beaches nearby, was a white robed man. He was crumpled to the ground, golden shards swirled around his open hand, The light flowed like the tide from the broken metal, and as Edward watched, the light faded and the shards drew together into a seamless metal ball slightly bigger than an apple.

Kenway's palm itched. The robed man might be dead, leaving the golden ball free for the taking, but what if the light was a fail safe? The mistakes of other poor sods would simply add to Edward's wisdom.

The pirate crept carefully to the collapsed man, tugging his sword free. He prodded the golden orb first, rolling it away from the man's limp fingers. There was dirt and blood under his fingernails, his palm was scarred and calloused, like he had worked a boat his entire life. Edward nudged the man next, lifting the hood free of his face with the tip of his sword. The man was Arabian, his long face dark and his stubble black as night. A pale scar lifted the corner of his lip on one side.

"How did you get here...?" Edward hummed to himself, leaning down to pick up the metal orb. His finger barely brushed the thing when an iron grip closed on his wrist. Edward yelped, to startled to raise his sword.

The man shouted something in Arabic, his eyes, just as golden as the orb, flashed in anger and confusion. Kenway pulled his arm free when he noticed the strange man reach for a short blade on his back.

"Woah, woah, hold on-" Edward yelled, holding his sword clumsily in-front of him. The Arabian surged to his feet gracefully, the short grey knife in his gloved palm. "I was just checking to see if you where alive." He panted in a bad English accent. "I was trying to help."

The Arabian wrinkled his nose, thinking. He spoke through a heavy accent. "British dog." He spat in rough, though surprisingly good, English. "Pirate!"

"I'm not a pirate, mate." Edward sunk his sword in the ground, hoping the Arabian wasn't as hot-headed as he was. "Look, friend, I'm not going to hurt you." Kenway's thieving eyes drifted very slightly towards the abandoned treasure. He should have shot the man first.

"Where am I?" The Arabian demanded, blade still free. He shifted in-front of the orb, like he held its value over his life.

"Just a little island in the Mediterranean, mate." Edward held his hand open and reassuringly, offering the other man a wide smile. "I'm Duncan Watpole." He slowly extended a hand. The Arabian glared him down.

"Altair Ibn la Ahad." He said shortly. "Did you take me here?"

Well, at least his blade was lowered. Edward relaxed a bit.

"No, mate. I saw a bright light coming from here and came to investigate. I was just checking to see if you were fish-food when you attacked me."He added just the slightest hint of hurt. Fake, of course, but still.

"You were reaching for the Apple with the intent of stealing it." Altair accused savagely. His eyes were too bright, his muscles too taunt. He seemed more like a panther than a human. "You're lucky I haven't killed you yet."

"Look, pal, I'm an assassin." Edward offered up desperately. Altair's robes, though strange, were built similar to Duncan's. Lighter then the thick English fabric, but considering the weather where he came from, it made sense. The Arabian frowned, but relaxed. His Eagle Vision saw Edward as near colorless, a neutral.

"I must return to Masyuf." He said. "Which direction is it?"

"Depends, mate. Where is Masyuf?" At Altair's angry look, he backtracked. "I mean, does it have a port? Is it around the Mediterranean Sea?" He pressed.

"No, it is mostly desert and stone hills." Altair glanced around, still keeping a wary eye on Edward. The island around him was bright and green, colorful birds like nothing you could see outside of a wealthy man's castle were trilling to one another and riding salty rolling breezes off the water. The round, wooden houses would never have survived a sandstorm back home.

Altair felt, suddenly and completely, out of his depth. He wished, almost for an entire second, that his mentor was there to explain what was expected of him.

"Well," He said briskly, picking up the Apple and tucking it in his belt pouch. "First step is to find a way off the island." He hardly glanced at Edward, trotting confidently down towards the beach. Kenway jogged after him.

"Wait up, Ibn la Ahad!" He stumbled horribly over the name. Maybe Altair would be easier, but it would suggest he saw the man as a friend, or at least ally, but so far he simply seemed like an irritating jerk.

Altair stopped suddenly, turning to glare at him. "Why are you following me, Watpole?"

"Even if you find a boat," He panted, stubbornly holding onto the English accent. "You won't be able to sail it alone."

Altair wrinkled his nose again, this time in distaste. "Is the only way off by sea?"

"Course. It's an island, mate."

"Stop calling me 'mate'."

"Sure..." Altair started striding back towards the sea, looking resigned. "Mate." The only inclination the assassin heard him was a low growl. Edward grinned widely, sauntering after him.

"Ho there! There's a schooner!" Edward yelled as soon as they stepped foot on the beach. A white sailed schooner was docked patiently in the sheltered cove, bobbing like a light feathered duck. "And it looks like her Captain is entertaining guests." He laughed. Altair looked further down the beach. Five guards patrolled one, rather soft-edged and scared looking, man. A few crates and boxes were stacked up beside a small row boat.

"Hey, mate, what'r'you doing?" Edward called as Altair started marching stubbornly towards the guards, his face set and determined. "The boat's that way, Ibn la Ahad!" Altair just continued striding forwards. The guards shimmered red, a prideful, horrible red that made the assassin's blood boil. The poor man, the merchant, was just a soft, babyish blue. He was an innocent, an ally, a true assassin could not leave an ally to an enemy.

One of the guards turned and saw him, his mouth open in alarm. Altair's throwing knife silenced him. The Masyuf assassin set down on the guards like a whirlwind, his short grey knife flicking around as fast as silver lightening. By the time Edward caught up, panting in the heavy robes, only Altair was still standing.

Edward offered the frightened man his hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Hello, friend. I'm Duncan Watpole, this is Altair Ibn la Ahad." He gestured to the white robed Arabian. The assassin nodded to them, wiping his blade off on one of the guard's coat.

"B-Bonnet, my good sirs." The man said nervously, dusting off his clothes.

"Well, Mister Bonnet, is that you're schooner yonder?" Edward asked pleasantly, an easy smile lax on his lips.

"Oh, oh yes, it is! Sadly, the Captain is that poor fellow over there." Bonnet pointed at a dead man a few feet away, frowning. "He put up a fuss when the guards demanded some of our cargo."

"Pirates." Altair hissed, sheathing his knife. Bonnet nodded vigorously, calming down.

"Yes, quite. Dreadful, it is-"

"So, mate," Edward cut in, throwing his arm around Bonnet's shoulders. "You don't have anyone that can sail?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid not." Bonnet sighed apologetically. Edward just smiled.

"Well, lucky for you friend, I'm a fair man with a boat. I can sail her out of here." He offered, making it sound like a grand favor. Bonnet smiled back.

"Oh, would you? Thank you, friend, I was afraid I'd be here for awhile." He laughed breathlessly. Over Bonnet's shoulder, Edward could see Altair pulling the boat towards the shore, scrumptiously avoiding touching the water.

"Ho, Ibn la Ahad!" He cried. "It'll be faster just to swim!"

Altair glared back at him through the shadow of his cowl. "And the cargo? It will swim, too?" He started stacking the crates carefully in the boat, ignoring Edward completely.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Bonnet exclaimed, helping secure the crates. They pushed it off the shore and Altair quickly jumped in to row it.

"So, I'll just, uh," Edward scratched the back of his head. "swim?" Bonnet was already in the water, dog paddling just behind the boat. Edward shrugged and ran out into the shallows. "Ibn la Ahad, mate, wait up!"

* * *

**So, first chapter for One Among Many! The next one should be A Snake among Mice, a Merlin/Harry Potter crossover. If it isn't... Well, whoops.**

**Anyway, as always, Peace Off, Internets!**


	3. A Snake among Mice

**A Harry Potter/Merlin Crossover. **

**Read at own risk.**

* * *

Merlin hoisted his pack further up shoulders, a hesitant smile faltering on his face. There was a Note in his pocket, just a slender slip of paper with no real importance to the world around it. It was the writing on it that made it worthy of the capital N.

He didn't really know what it said. But it must be important enough to warrant a capital N. His mother had sent one just like it a few days ago and it resulted in him packing all his belongings in a battered sack. He was heading to Camelot, the greatest city in all of Albion! If one letter did that for him, what would a second do? His mother hadn't told him much, just that she had a friend that could take care of him there, when he finally arrived to the castle.

Merlin labored up the last hill, smiling and huffing at two horse-bound scarlet guards.

"Hey, boy." One of the guards called, halting his horse in-front of Merlin and efficiently cutting off any view of the city. "What's your business here?" Merlin frowned up at him, too used to his small village to respect the armed guard.

"My mother sent me to work for one of her friends." He half-lied. He was pretty proud of that story. "He works in the castle." He added boldly.

"Sure he does." The other guard said dryly. "What's his name?"

"Severus." The two guards shared looks. Scared looks.

"I'd suggest going home kid." The first guard suggested. "The Snake of the Dungeons won't exactly welcome you."

"He's a vampire." The other guard whispered fearfully. "He's as pale as marble and has black eyes like coal. He's a sorcerer, that one."

"I thought he was a vampire?" Merlin scoffed. Why would his mother be friends with a vampire? And there were no more sorcerers in Camelot. The King burned them all.

"He can be both." The guard insisted. "Well, don't say you weren't warned."

Merlin brushed past them, head high, but a trickle of unease crept down his back.

It followed him into Camelot.

* * *

"Sir?" Severus hardly spared a glance towards the door. A boy was there, shifting his weight nervously and tugging at his sleeves. The boy cleared his throat. "I have a letter for you."

"Leave it on the table and go." The physician said lowly, stirring a bubbling cauldron.

"My mother said- I mean, she told me to tell you-"

Severus threw him look, raising an eyebrow as he exuded disapproval. He couldn't stand stuttering. The boy took a deep breath and said;

"It's from Hunith."

Severus swept across the room, holding a potion stained hand out expectantly. The boy dropped the letter in his hand, looking travel-worn and tired.

"Sit down." The physician ordered, not bothering to see if he was obeyed. On the letter, in smudged, coal-black ink, was Hunith's familiar slanted writing.

_Dear Severus,_

_My oldest friend, I am aware of the position I am putting you in,_

_but my son, Merlin, needs your help._

_He is at ends here, different from the other children, and could use your guidance._

_He is impulsive, but will work hard. Please, keep him safe._

_Hunith_

Severus skimmed it over several times before glancing towards the exhausted boy. He couldn't be much older then 15, a gangly black-haired boy who looked noticeably like a young colt, all legs and ears and wide blue eyes.

"Merlin, I presume?" Severus asked smoothly. The boy nodded so fast it was a miracle his head clung to his neck. The physician closed the heavy wooden door and turned to face Merlin. "Tell me, Merlin, when did you start practicing magic?"

Merlin started guiltily and began to protest. Severus raised his hand for silence and sighed.

"I suppose I will have to teach you to lie properly, first of all. Settle down, boy, your mother's letter says it all." Severus passed Merlin the letter, who read it and frowned.

"It doesn't mention magic anywhere."

"Read between the lines. '_The position I am putting you in'? 'At ends here'?_ Either you are a magic user, or in-fact a very strange looking woman." Merlin flushed red, annoyed enough to glare at the dark-robed, pale physician before he realized what he was doing and looked away.

"Never be afraid to meet the eyes of another, Merlin. It betrays more of your character by looking away then holding their gaze." Severus scolded absently, turning back to the cauldron.

"Even to the king?" Merlin snorted in disbelief.

"Yes, if you are in the position for it." Severus idly jotted down three words on the back of Hunith's letter. Merlin read them in confusion.

"Lie, observe and read?" Merlin echoed, frowning as Severus crumpled the letter up and fed it to the fire under the cauldron.

"Learn to lie adequately, even in a position where you are at disadvantage. Observe carefully, the smallest details are the most important. And read a situation before entering it, it may save your life." The physician raised an eyebrow at him, face shrouded by rising steam. "You stepped in here nervous, and showed the fact so obviously it was painful. Had I been a threat, I would have noted your fear immediately and used it to my advantage. Where did you go wrong?"

Merlin screwed up his face, thinking. "I, er, listened to the rumors you're a vampire?"

"_You stepped in here nervous._" Severus repeated, lifting the cauldron free of the flames and banking the contained fire. "Be wary, but unless it is explicitly to your advantage, never show fear. It can be viewed as a weakness. Good so others underestimate you, but of little use besides." The physician appraised the road-stained boy. "Consider this your first lesson. There is a room just up the stairs, consider it yours until or unless better accommodations can be found." Merlin gathered his stuff and started towards the room. "Oh, and Merlin? I expect you to do your share in chores while here." Severus fixed a firm look on the young boy. "I will not have you growing lazy in my quarters."

Merlin grinned cheekily and darted up the stairs.

Severus shook his head. He couldn't see much of his soft-hearted mother in the energetic boy's attitude. Perhaps time would reveal Hunith in the boy, like water brushing away earth to reveal a hidden gem.

* * *

"Hurry up, Merlin." The coltish boy jogged to keep up with the long-legged physician. In Merlin's hand swung a woven basket, nearly full with food and herbs. If it weren't for the height of his guardian, Merlin would lost the tall man in the crowd several times over.

"Are we almost done, sir?"Merlin huffed, dodging a group of brightly dressed court ladies.

"Almost, Merlin." Severus murmured, apparently paying him only half a mind. Over the last few days, Merlin quickly learned the absent-minded look was a simple act. The man was always sharp and wary, an odd combination for a court physician. "One more stop, you may wait outside. _Don't_ cause any trouble."

Merlin gasped in mock hurt. "Me? Cause trouble? Of course not, sir!"

Severus scowled at the cheeky boy. "Of course not." Severus vanished into a dingy shop without another word.

Merlin loitered obediently outside the shop for a record breaking two seconds before he caught sight of a group of knights practicing ax throwing in the courtyard not far away.

Merlin glanced back at the shop door. Surely, a few feet closer to the courtyard wouldn't be out of sight, and Severus did tell him simply to stay out of trouble. Watching the knights train wouldn't be _trouble_.

Emboldened, Merlin trotted over to the field. Several knights in red cloaks hefted tomahawks, watching impatiently as a servant carried a round target to a new spot.

"Hey, watch this." A young blond knight laughed, blue eyes sparkling with mean mischief. He twirled the ax over his shoulder and, in one smooth movement, sent it flying towards the servant.

The servant yelped, stumbling from the force behind the throw. He peered over the struck target in alarm.

"Did I tell you to stop?" The blond knight demanded. "I like a moving target." He raised a second ax.

"Stop that!" Merlin yelled, loping towards the knights. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a familiar voice sneered 'no trouble?' The knights turned to the boy, frowns and haughty scowls in place.

"Do you know who I am?" The blond boy asked with a prideful look.

"You're a prat!" Merlin snapped. The knights looked shocked. "That's no way to treat anyone, and you should.. stop." He finished lamely.

The blond knight cast his companions an exasperated look before turning to Merlin. "I can have you thrown in the dungeons for that."

"For speaking against tyranny?!" Merlin tried and failed miserably to imitate Severus' infamous scowl. "Who do you think you are?"

The blond snorted, chin high in the air. "I am _Prince_ Arthur Pendragon." Arthur waved his knights forewards, smiling while two grabbed Merlin. "And you are under arrest. Put him in the dungeons."

By the time Severus reached the courtyard, the only remaining sign of Merlin was a spilled basket.

Severus grumbled, striding off to the castle.

"That idiot."

* * *

Merlin glanced up at the guards' approach. An irritated Severus followed behind them like a thundercloud.

Despite the physician's obvious anger, Merlin grinned at him from behind the bars. "Did you stop for lunch? I've been here ages!"

Severus scowled at him. "It took me this long to convince King Uther to release you. I could have left you the night."

Merlin's grin faded. "So... No lunch?"

Severus' scowl twisted into a positively _evil_ smirk. "Oh, you'll be getting lunch."

* * *

Merlin dodged a fuzzy, rotten tomato as best he could. Severus had taken a devious glee in locking his young ward in the wooden stockade, trapping his hands and head (which Severus assured him was quite empty) in place while the delighted people pelted him with old moldy food.

"People think you're a hero." A soft voice commented during a lull. Merlin twisted his neck, looking up at a pretty youn woman a few years older then him. Her dark brown tresses tumbled in curls around her gentle tanned face. "I mean, for standing up to Arthur. He can be a jerk." She explained, and smiled. "I'm Guinevere, but everyone calls me Gwen."

"Merlin. I'd shake your hand, but..." He grimaced. The crowd started arming themselves again. "Ah, my loving fans await."

Gwen laughed. "See you around, Merlin."

* * *

"_Merlin_." Merlin jerked awake, a strange voice like liquid gold crying in his ear. "_Merlin_." He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, tentatively putting his weight on the wooden floor. A single creak would wake up the jumpy physician.

"_Merlin_." He crept stealthily downstairs, his bare feet padding as silently as a mouse. In his corner, Severus' breathing caught, forcing Merlin to stand still, before it evened out once more. The voice continued on, calling evermore; "_Merlin_, _Merlin_,"

Merlin followed the voice through the castle, deeper and deeper into the dungeons. He came across no guards, the halls dark and empty. The voice never ceased, drawing the young boy to the deepest corner of Camelot with a siren call.

The young boy trotted down a shadowed and disused hallway, deaf to anything but the sound of the voice calling his name. The hallway opened up to a massive cavern, light filtering in from a distant opening, too far for use or sight.

But what reeled Merlin was the voice so much closer, so much more attainable; A voice like a waterfall drumming against stone, with an elemental power and a strength beyond learning.

The voice of the Great Dragon.

"Hello, young warlock." The voice greeted. In the faltering light, Merlin caught a glimpse of burnished scales and vibrant golden eyes.

The last dragon of Albion.

* * *

**So, next one, hmm? Not overly interesting, admittedly, but still, I wanted it up here.**

**Anyways, Peace Off, Internets!**


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